Emily pauses beside me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she tracks Quinn’s path through the store.
“This is her version of heaven,” I tell Emily. “The cart at Saturday Market is fun, but this is where the true treasures can be found.”
Emily chuckles. “How many books is she allowed today?”
“Two,” I answer. “Plus one educational book, which doesn’t count against her total.”
Quinn waves from between two tall shelves. “Ms. Emily! Come see!”
“Duty calls.” Emily jogs ahead to join Quinn.
I hang back, pretending to examine a display of local history books while watching their interaction. Emily crouches beside Quinn, bringing herself to the child’s level as Quinn pulls colorful volumes from the shelves. Their heads bend together over open pages, Quinn’s small finger tracing illustrations while Emily listens with complete attention.
“This one has a reptile that can change colors,” Quinn explains.
Emily examines the page. “It would be fun to be able to change colors.”
“I would be one color of the rainbow for each day of the week.” Quinn flips through more pages. “What kind of books did you like when you were little?”
“Horse stories,” Emily admits. “I read every Black Stallion book I could find.”
“Did you have a real horse?”
“No, but I used to have a toy horse.”
Quinn gasps with delight at this revelation. “Do you still have it?”
“No,” Emily admits with a sadness that leaves me wondering how much she lost when her parents passed away. “But I’ve carved several horses over the years.”
Quinn gasps with delight. “If you bring one of your horses, we can play knight and dragon!”
As they interact, the tension I carry eases, replaced by an unexpected tenderness. After finding out she grew up in foster care, I hadn’t pictured her as a girl with plastic horses, and my heart squeezes at the mismatch.
Emily helps Quinn narrow down her choices until she has three fiction and one science book clutched in her arms.
When Quinn hesitates between the three fiction books, Emily suggests, “Try reading the first page of each. Sometimes the writing style helps you decide.”
“That’s what Mr. Leif says, too!” Quinn bounces on her toes. “He says the first page is like meeting a new friend.”
Pride warms my face at this proof that Quinn listens to my reading advice. I move closer, drawn into their orbit as Quinn settles on a dragon adventure, a book about a girl with a service dog, and a non-fiction book about frogs.
“Excellent selections,” I tell her as she hugs the books. “Ready to check out and head home?”
Quinn shakes her head. “Can we go to Stitch & Yarn first? It’s right next door, and I want to show Ms. Emily the sparkly yarn.”
Emily raises an eyebrow at me. “Sparkly yarn?”
“It has tiny threads that shine like stars,” Quinn explains before I can answer. “Uncle Blake says I have expensive taste.”
I laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.”
After paying for Quinn’s books, we exit to the sidewalk and walk the few steps to the adjacent storefront. Stitch & Yarn occupies a converted Victorian house, its rooms transformed into specialized sections for different crafts. The bell jingles as we enter, and the scent of wool and lanolin envelops us.
Quinn beelines for the wall of colorful yarn at the back of the store.
Emily follows, her fingers trailing along skeins as she passes, testing textures with an expert’s touch. I hadn’t considered that Emily might be familiar with fiber crafts, though she did mention learning to crochet during our woodworking sessions.
“Look!” Quinn points to a display of bulky yarn in jewel tones, some with delicate metallic strands woven through. “Isn’t it pretty?”